


teamwork (makes the dream work)

by deadlybride



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pornstars, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Alex is twenty-two, and rich, and just likes to have fun. Sometimes it's boring; sometimes it's very, very not.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Alexander Calvert/Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 32
Kudos: 84





	teamwork (makes the dream work)

**Author's Note:**

> part of a burgeoning cokehead!Alex 'verse; this installment explains the before, of how he came to live at J2's house.
> 
> written for the SMPC on Livejournal

It’s a friend of a friend party, a _come on, don’t make me go by myself_ party, and Alex isn’t exactly a fainting wallflower but he really doesn’t know… anyone here. At least, not by name. At least, not by their _real_ names. Carly's good for knowing where the fun shows are going to be, and she’s got a great pill connection that is going to keep her on Alex’s good side way past when she gets kind of annoying, and she also is somehow friends with—these people. Alex dressed decent, since Carly gave him the address and he knows the houses in this neighborhood, and he took a little something that’s calmed him right down, but—this isn’t exactly, at all, what he thought he was going to be facing this evening.

The house is on an older-money street, and Alex got introduced to the host in passing and instantly recognized him not in himself, but in his type. Could’ve been at the brunch table with Alex’s mom—piles of cash, not enough to do, an eye for the younger man. Honestly, Alex thought, while the old queen kissed his knuckles in the foyer like this was old Hollywood: goals.

"Hope to see you again," the guy says when the introductions are done, smiling just enough, and Alex thinks—well, there’s a bed he could fall into, if he needed to. Dude’s a little too old for his taste, though, a little too paunchy, and anyway he’s sure there’s a line. That’s the other thing about this house—he recognizes it. Lots of young pretty bodies scattered around, though they’re not all the same (four-figure cocktail dress on that woman, while that guy’s wearing torn Target jeans and a t-shirt with a stain on it), and the music playing just the right side of too loud, a mix of faux-blues and grungy pop that’s got some people dancing in the sunken floor of the main living room—a wide circling bar that Alex swings around and grabs a g&t and a wink from the hot thirtysomething bartender—and, outside, that’s it, that’s when he recognizes it. He’s seen that huge low table, and the circle of chairs, and the thick-grown landscaping blocking the pool from the neighbors’ view—because they shoot porn, here, sunny backyard orgy shit, and Alex is not above jerking off to a couple of built dudes all over each other in some rich guy’s sauna. Carly—seriously, Alex thinks, and goes to find her.

An hour later he hasn’t, but he’s powdered his nose in the bathroom while two chicks tried to inhale each other’s tongues on the counter next to him, and he’s on his third g&t, and he’s made a friend. Well, sort of a friend. Thirtyish, blond hair and dark eyes, smiling real affectionate. Alex smiles back, licking the back of his teeth. Can’t remember the dude’s name but he’s got an Altoid tin in his pocket of all kinds of candy and Alex, you know, he’s not averse to candy. White Stripes playing over the sound system, throbby throwback, and the dude leans in and mumbles hot breath in Alex’s ear—"We could get out of here, you know? I got a place."

Hand on Alex’s hip, curling to his ass. Alex bets he does.

It’s not—he’s _allowed_ to go home. That’s not it. But four years at Berkeley and he’s just not interested in grad school, he's just not. His friends are more fun, and yeah, he’s been kicking around without much of anything to do but meet people and have a good time, and fuck, he’s thought, what was the point of a seven figure bank account and a trust-fund allowance if you _weren’t_ going to have fun? Easier to skip out, and Carly’s more than willing to let him bankroll some of their better nights, and he’s learning a lot, he thinks. Better this than poli-sci, anyway. If he’s going to be governor someday, Dad can figure out how to pay Alex's way in on his own time.

Wet—what? Oh—Lady Gaga groaning out some fuck-song now, and the guy with the pills got his mouth on Alex’s throat, sometime when he wasn’t looking. Alex hums, touches the back of the guy’s head. Too much hair-product. He’s crunchy, and his breath’s all hot. Funny, you’d think Alex would remember his name. Although, as he stares at the ceiling and absently picks at the crunchy hair-gel texture of the dude’s hair, Alex remembers _now_ that he took—something, that the guy held it up to his lips and thumbed it onto his tongue, and it was faintly bitter from the powder but he swallowed it down just the same. His dick’s not that interested but his body’s tingly, heavy-limbed, and he… doesn’t like the crunchy hair, no thank you.

He wrinkles his nose, sets his hands on the guy's shoulders. Pushes, but it really does feel like his arms belong to someone else. Heavy body, his bones like—like plutonium, heavy metal, Iron Maiden—and he laughs, thinking it, and the guy lifts his head and smiles at him and Alex slides, his jacket dragging on the wall and his shirt riding up, and when he's on his ass on the floor there's a boot that appears, dark brown suede, and a voice somewhere up above says under the music, "Hey, buddy, I think he's had enough," and it's friendly but it's not _that_ friendly, and that’s—oh, hm.

Black legs, denim legs. Past the knees Alex smiles at the party, at the girls he can see dancing. Carly, finally, her shoes off and her skirt hiked up so high she's nearly showing the path to heaven, but her head's thrown back and she has her arms thrown over the shoulders of a pretty blonde, and somewhere above there's harder words, and a shove, and the black legs—move, staggering slanted away, and the denim folds up and there's a—man, there, heavy stubble on his jaw and his hair shortish and his eyes huge and green and gorgeous, and he says, "Hey, kiddo," easy, and "How's the party treating you?" and Alex looks at the full familiar curve of lips and says, his voice feeling like it's coming from about fifty feet above his head, "You're Jack Deveraux," and the eyes go wide for a second before there's a grin, and the lips say, "Yeah, I guess I am," and—well, wow.

Alex has had a credit card and a fake-birthdate email since he was fifteen and the whole world of the internet spilled out before him, and yeah, he recognizes that mouth. In fact: "Didn't you—" Alex says, gesturing at the huge table, somewhere beyond layers of walls, somewhere outside, where he knows once it was syrupy daylight and he'd watched Jack spread on his back with one guy eating him out and one guy nursing at his dick and a built top petting Jack's face, slipping his thumb into Jack's open mouth, and Jack looked up with heavy beautiful eyes and the freckles on his cheeks were golden-brown magic and Alex just thought, he'd thought—

"Oh, man," Jack says, and grips Alex by the neck, and shakes him a little. Alex blinks, looks at his eyes instead of into the past. He gets a smile, close-lipped, and the guys says, "Kiddo, you forgot to keep talking, there. Come on, let's get up, here we go—" and oh, wow, he's _strong_ , lifts Alex up by his underarms, heaves and heaves even though Alex is _so_ heavy, and when Alex's sneakers touch the floor he feels his metal bones click into place and he sighs, leans, and Jack catches him, says, "Whoa, okay," and kind of laughs. "Wow. Kid, you got someone here with you?"

The world's soft grey sweater, the smell of—hmm. Tom Ford cologne. Not bad at all. Carly's nowhere in this world and Alex says, "Yeah," muffled, and when his chin gets tipped up and he blinks up into big green eyes he says, "You're here," which is true, and he doesn't know why that gets an eyeroll and another laugh.

"Yeah, okay," Jack says, and snags at the sleeve of someone passing by— _can you find Jay for me? Yeah, just say I'm in the den, thanks—_ and Alex watches his hand, a silver ring flashing, freckles on his knuckles, his watch, his forearm flexing under the rolled-up sweater sleeve, and then the hand reappears and fingers click in front of Alex's face. "You still here, kid?"

"Alex," Alex says, even if he does feel like a kid, a lot of the time, and a lot of the time he's not sure that anyone ever gets beyond kid even if they say they do. He blinks and it feels monumental. "Alex."

"Alex," comes the voice, and a smile, and then Jack leans in and says, soft like it's a secret: "Well, my name's actually Jensen, then. Nice to meet you, Alex."

Jensen. Alex blinks again, heavy, facts tumbling slowly over themselves. Green eyes and freckles and that mouth, and a strong arm still braced around Alex's back so he doesn't fall down again, and his soft sweater, and how Alex knows what he looks like when he comes—all of that is _Jensen_ , Jensen, a last name, a strange name. Alex's mouth feels the shape of it, how it changes in his palate from _Jack_ —his tongue, taking the time for twice the syllables, humming the n, and he licks his lips and presses them to Jensen's and murmurs his name there, feeling it. It's good.

Hand on his jaw, thumb swiped over his cheek. "Alex," Jensen says, because his name is Jensen and Alex's name is Alex, and it's deep and it sounds so good in his mouth, and Alex tips his head back and lets Jensen catch the weight of it. Oh, it's so good.

"Jen?" he hears, and there's a good-green smell, weed, and _really_ good weed. He opens his eyes and there's a—giant—and he opens his mouth because holy shit, that's who—

"What've you found?" Jay says, grinning, and Jensen says, like he's annoyed, "Oh, haven't been able to find you for two hours and as soon as there's a twink in trouble you teleport over—" and Jay says, "Glad you're acknowledging my mutant abilities, at least," and Jensen rolls his eyes but he's got a smile tucked into his cheek that makes a tiny dimple to match Jay's huge gorgeous ones and Jay puts his hand on the back of Alex's neck, big enough to cover Jensen's fingers and make Alex feel tiny, tiny, a kid—

"How you doing, kiddo?" he says, echoing, and Alex, oh, Alex _wants_.

Jay—Jared, it turns out. Jared, and Jensen. Jared takes Alex to the same bathroom where he had his bump earlier and splashes water over his face, and then picks Alex up by the hips, just easy as that, and sits him on the counter, and makes him drink a big glass of water, and then another. "I'll drown," Alex says, and laughs, and Jared smiles at him and says, "Yeah, but I'll come get you, so you just drink up, honey," so Alex does. Bathroom's small and Jared kicks the door closed when someone tries to open it to come in, and so it's just them, and Jared standing tall between Alex's knees and playing with his hair, smoothing it back from his face while Alex gulps and gulps and gulps, his whole body washing away. He's beautiful, too. His hair's longer than Alex remembered it from those old videos, and tucked behind his ears, and he's all blue in the light—blue shirt and blue jeans and blue light on his face from the weird fixtures in here, and Alex drifts, the sea taking him.

*

Jensen, later. A conversation that Alex hears but does not hear. _You find the guy? Yeah. Think he'll be okay? Yeah, he had a little nose candy—you see that ring? But he's just a little loopy. Aren't you, Alex?_

"Yeah," he says, comfortable and lazy, and he's on a bed, and he blinks, and is—here. Here.

A bedroom, and not one he recognizes. He's definitely not sober but he's not a trainwreck anymore, either. He licks his dry lips, reorients. The bed's massive and he's over on the far side, his sneakers and jacket pulled off but the rest of his clothes on, and he stretches his jaw, feels it pop, and lifts up on one elbow—the bedroom just as massive, and a tv on the wall playing the same music as the main party, and a loveseat below the window where a guy's going down on some woman, and on the bed with Alex there's Jared and Jensen, and Jared's got his hand up Jensen's sweater and Jensen has his hand in Jared's pants and they're kissing, slow, breathing each other's air, and it's—the hottest thing Alex has ever seen, lifetime to date, bar none.

Weed-smell still in the air. Alex breathes deep—contact high or leftover, he's not sure, but his head spins and he takes a deep breath. They're—god. Pornstars. He does remember. Old videos, on that site with the weird black-and-yellow color scheme, and they were younger then but he thinks they're hotter now. Jensen thicker across the shoulders than he was, then, but his skin a little paler, and he sits up, kneeling astride Jared's hips, and peels his sweater off to show that he's, yeah, that same creamy color all over, and he smiles down at Jared and then turns his head and says, "Oh, he's awake."

Soft, deep. Alex breathes in and out, his stomach hot, while they both look at him. "Hey, there," Jared says, easy, and he is a little high, loose. His pupils enormous, flushed pink in the hollows under his cheekbones. He reaches out a hand and palms Alex's cheek, hot dry palm and the green smell thick there on his skin, and Alex breathes through his mouth and drinks it in. God.

"Hmm." Jared grins at him, his cheeks creasing. White teeth, dimples. He swipes his thumb a little too hard over Alex's lips and dents them, drags down his bottom lip, says, "Feeling better, baby?"

"Yeah," Alex says, faint against tan skin, while Jensen flicks Jared's chest and says, "He's not an infant."

A frown then, and Jensen squints at him. He hasn't moved off of Jared's hips and Alex can see his dick, fat and full pushing out the front of his jeans. "You're not, right?" Jensen says. "You're legal."

"Totally," Alex says, and Jared's grin gets bigger and he says, up at Jensen, "See," and then he pets over Alex's ear and hooks the back of his neck and says, "Come here and kiss me," easily confident, and Alex glances up at Jensen, who's just rolling his eyes, and leans in, and does.

Oh—oh. His head's still not quite there—not undizzy enough to handle all that warm, all at once, Jared's tongue pushing in and taking charge. Alex balances on his elbow, hanging there blurrily while he's taken over. Taste of beer, of dank smoke, of slick spit, and his jaw's knocked open when Jared pushes deeper, breath huffing into Alex's mouth. Overwhelming. Jared tugs at the hair on the back of his head before he drops back down to the pillow and the little pain jolts right to Alex's nuts and he breathes in deep, trying to get back to this plane, while Jared smiles at him.

"Good," he says, simple, and Jensen says, "You're ridiculous," to who Alex doesn't know, but Jared clearly takes it as given and rolls his eyes, too, for Alex to see, and then he says, "I'll show you ridiculous, mon frere," and yanks Jensen down and kisses him, too, and rolls so that Jensen's trapped below him and his wrist's pinned down beside his head, and Jared's hips slots between Jensen's thighs and Jensen's knees spread and he groans, and groans louder when Jared drops his mouth to Jensen's throat and bites.

"Oh, you prick," Jensen breathes out, and Jared bites again and then laughs, tucked against the skin, and Alex has no idea what heaven he's managed to get to with whatever combinations of chemicals he took but he's pretty fucking sure he doesn't deserve it.

"Be nice, Jen, you'll scare away the kid," Jared says.

"Not scared," Alex says, a lot more evenly than he feels. He sits up, drags his hand through his hair. "Like, not even a little."

Jared shifts his weight onto one elbow, and they both look at him, and then at each other. Jensen touches Jared's lips, two fingers, and then drags them down, bumping over his adam's apple to the hollow of his throat, and Jared smiles wide and happy. "Yeah?" he says, to something unsaid, and sits up then too, kneeling on the mattress with Jensen's legs splayed over his thighs. "You sure?"

"When am I ever not sure," Jensen says, not asking, and Jared laughs out loud, a big _ha ha_ laugh, and that for some reason reminds Alex that they're not alone in here, that there's another couple—and when he looks over, shit, the guy's fucking the woman, her leg hiked up on the back of the loveseat and her head thrown back, his face buried in her throat—urgent inelegant fucking, his ass clenching rhythmically as he drives in and in.

"You want me to fuck you like that?" Jared says, and Alex drags his eyes away to find himself the target of dual looks, again, and his mouth goes dry. Jared pops his eyebrows high, still so cheerful, casual, and Alex remembers another video where he held some dusky-skinned twink against the wall and fucked him for way longer than anyone should be able to hold that position, grinning the whole time, and his dick lurches inside his pants.

"He can," Jensen says, and he's smiling a little, too, looking perfectly in control even on his back with a huge dude between his legs. "If you want."

Alex licks his lips. "Wouldn't suck," he says, shrugging, and gets Jared to laugh again, _ha ha_ , and then a big hand closes around his forearm and he's dragged closer, and his head dizzes out again, thumping in rhythm to the music.

Clothes—Jensen's hands on him—and it's slower than he expected, Jensen helping him peel the t-shirt over his head, looking at his face, pulling open his belt. Alex touches his chest, his stomach, palms his dick where it's filling out his jeans, and gets a little soft kiss for it on the corner of his mouth, plush and sweet. "I could fuck you, too," Jensen says, real close and quiet, and Alex lets his head fall back. Too much—no one's even touched his dick and he feels like he could pop.

"Easy, kiddo," Jared says. Alex is tugged backwards and there's—oh, lots of naked skin, tanned forearms banded over his stomach, and Jensen smiles over Alex's shoulder and then pulls his jeans off, his socks, and he's sprawled out then, Jared's hard-on digging into his back, and Jensen stands at the foot of the bed and props his hands on his hips and looks him over. Jared kisses Alex's shoulder, the back of his ear. "What do you think?" he says, soft, and Alex breathes heavy, can't decide. A spliff, handed over his shoulder—and he doesn't usually smoke, but he takes it, sips the funk of it in deep, tries to relax.

"Pretty," Jensen says, when Alex has blown out his slow stream of smoke. It hazes in the air, complicating the already strange light—red and blue and yellow, and the flickering music videos on the TV. The woman makes some gut-punch sound, and then yelps high, and Jensen looks over his shoulder but she just seems to be coming, finally, and the guy says _yeah, baby, that's it, you got it_ —sleazy triumph, porn dialogue, and Jensen's rolling his eyes when he turns back around. "Well," he says, "we can beat _that_ ," and kneels up on the bed and bolsters Alex's dick in his fingers and goes down, to the root, in one easy swallow.

Alex spasms, lifts his hips. Oh—oh, christ, the heat and wet, Jensen sucking, his cheeks silk-soft. Jared laughs in his ear, says, "He's good, right?" and Alex can't say anything but _yeah, yeah_ —not what he expected, not at all, and Jensen's tongue drags sloppy texture all over the underside of his dick, presses hard under the crown, before he pulls off and looks up and smiles, wet-mouthed. Jesus.

"No, just Jensen," Jared says, and oh, it turns out Alex was saying shit out loud, and Jensen sighs (puff of cool air against Alex's sensitive wet skin, _fuck_ ) and says, "You're never getting tired of that joke, are you?" and he pumps Alex's dick in a few perfectly-tense jerks while Jared laughs again and says, "Literally never," and he reaches down and plays with Alex's balls, cupping them loose and warm while Jensen jerks him.

"You guys are killing me," Alex gets out, spreading his thighs wider.

Jensen's attention switches from Jared's face and he grins, unexpectedly wide and wolfy, and Jared squeezes his balls just this side of hurting. Jensen presses his thumb hard under the crown of Alex's dick, that knot of intensity that makes his hips flinch up, cringing. "That right, Alex?" Jensen says, voice dropping deep. Alex licks his lips, thighs quivering. It hits different than the stupid nicknames. "You want something else?"

Jared's other hand spreads wide on his stomach, heavy, and Alex's lips feel dry. "Anything," he says, and means it. "Please."

"Oh, sweet," Jensen says, smiling, and hooks his hands under Alex's knees and drags him forward, so he lands flat on his back on the mattress. He leans in, his buttery-soft jeans still scraping painful against Alex's dick, and gets his hand on Alex's jaw. "We can handle that."

Jensen kisses different to Jared—shallower, more precise. More teeth, too, and Alex's lip throbs full with blood as Jared moves around from behind him, and the mattress sinks with shifted weight. Heavy hand on his thigh, on his shoulder, and Jensen pulls back and looks at him and then tilts his head to the right, and Alex follows to find Jared kneeling there, dick in hand. God, it's—big. Bigger in person than it looked on the videos, and his balls even bigger, and Alex opens his mouth and lifts up and Jared pushes closer and—in, fuck, salt and skin, and it _is_ big, big enough that there's no way Alex could take it all, not without practice. He's no stranger to sucking dick but this dick is something else, and he groans around his mouthful and tips his head back and Jared pulls out, shifts around and says, "Hit me if you can't breathe," and pushes in deeper, the fat head dragging heavy over Alex's tongue, and he keeps his teeth out of the way and suckles as best he can, but he's lost in a new dark—Jared's balls over his nose, and a big hand holding his jaw, and everything suffocating and good. He loves this—loves it, the fat knocking against his throat, and he may not be able to take it all the way but he can make it good while he has it, and somewhere past the trapped darkness he hears Jared groan and he says, distant, _doing good, kiddo_ , and Alex spreads his legs, his own balls throbbing.

Fingers—wet, confident. Oh—oh, smearing all over his crack, and he drags his heels up, moans. "That's right," Jensen says, and two hands hook behind his knees and pull him further open, curl his back so his ass is lifted off the bed. Harder to breathe, his lungs flattened in his chest, but who cares—he gulps around Jared's dick and does what he can, and at his asshole a thick wet thumb pushes in, easy, and then two fingers, pumping deep. "He tight?" Jared says, and Jensen says, "Not too bad, are you, Alex?" and Alex has to press his head all the way back into the mattress to get enough room to moan because Jensen's not letting up, fucking his fingers in like they're a dick, and Jared pulls up just enough to slide his cockhead smeary over Alex's cheek, cupping his balls up out of the way. He peers down his own torso and gives Alex an upside-down smile, which Alex returns helplessly, gasping through it, and then below there's a fatter thicker push and—ah, Jensen fucks into him, steady.

He likes sucking dick but he likes this more—this moment, right here, and he closes his eyes and clutches at Jared's thighs on either side of his head and breathes through it, feeling everything. The stretch, the edge of pain that's still there, no matter how many times—and that sticky-parted feeling down deep, like something's peeled open. Jensen sighs, and there's a hand that pets down his chest, over his straining dick, cups his balls up and out of the way. "Oh, that's nice," he says, and Alex opens his eyes to find Jensen looking down between them at where he's breaking Alex open, and Jared leans forward and says, "Jen," deep, and Jensen looks up and Alex is treated to a crazy upside-down angle of them kissing, over his body, while Jensen rocks shallowly in, the root of him stretching and loosening Alex up for the fuck.

And—christ, it's a good fuck, when Jensen gets going. Still wearing his jeans, the bastard, the zip crushing against Alex's ass, but he has a steady pumping rhythm that crushes in and in and _in_ against Alex's hot spots, especially with how Jared's still keeping him curled tight, right in place. Alex can't really move, can't help, but they don't seem to need him to. "Jay," Jensen says, crushing in and arching his hips, and Jared looks down at Alex and says, "Want some more, baby?" and Alex nods even if he's not sure he can take more after all and Jared angles his dick down and feeds it right to the back of Alex's throat, and so he can just close his eyes and groan and try to breathe, and he can't do anything at all besides relax into it, melting into the bed.

"That's it," Jared says, pumping deep, and somewhere else under the music an unfamiliar guy's voice says, _fuck, that's hot_ , and Alex feels like he flushes from head to toe but it's—fuck, yes it is, and Jared laughs and says, "No shit, Terry," and Jensen fucks sharper in and says, "If you're going to be a spectator, at least bring us some beer," and someone's hand—Alex has no idea who—grabs up his dick and starts pumping it slickly to Jensen's rhythm, and Alex is gonna come—oh, jesus, he's gonna come really fast if they keep doing that.

He taps Jared's thigh, and Jared pulls out right away, looks down into his face. "Okay?" he says, and Alex nods fast, gulping air—his balls lurching, his gut all heat. "I'm—" Alex says, and lifts his hips as much as he can, his abs aching—"Fuck, I'm—" and Jensen goes, "Oh, Alex," and leans all the way forward so Alex's knees are practically touching his own shoulders, the angle deeper now, and he's not jerking Alex anymore but his dick's hitting all the right places, all of them, and he kisses Alex's neck, his cheek, murmurs _come on, come on, you can do it_ , and Alex moans and arches and his dick smears sloppy all over Jensen's stomach and he comes hard, ridiculously hard, jetting up Jensen's chest and his own, hitting the underside of his own chin, holding Jared's thigh in one hand and grasping at Jensen's back with the other, and Jared says through the fog, admiring, "Fuck, you really got him," and Jensen laughs, and fucks into him again, and Alex throbs and shakes and thinks, oh, god, he's so fucking glad Carly made him come to this party.

Jensen pulls out, slow, and lets Alex's ass down. He kneels between Alex's thighs and jerks his wet dick, steady, and smiles at him, and then his eyes go to Jared's face. "Come here," he says, and Jared stands up on the bed, steps fully over Alex's body, and pushes his dick into Jensen's mouth just like that—and Jensen has all the practice Alex wishes he had, because Jared bottoms out, his head dropping back on his shoulders, his hair gleaming red-gold in the light. Jensen kneels up higher, holding Jared's ass, and groans—small and soft, not how he sounded while he was fucking Alex at all. Jared flexes, pushing in and out a few times, bare inches of his dick that appear wetly dark from Jensen's reddened mouth, and Alex's balls ache, not wanting to be done.

"I cannot believe how hot you are," he says, stupid. He could blame the stellar orgasm, or the decent weed, but sometimes things are just true.

Jared doesn't laugh, but he gets his hand under Jensen's jaw and pulls him off, slow, and Jensen licks his lips before he looks up at Jared. "Yeah," Jared says, soft, and kneels and gets Jensen on his stomach on the bed, laying right up next to where Alex is still sprawled, and he pulls Jensen's jeans down to his knees and he slicks up his wet dick wetter with the lube bottle laying on the bed and Jensen tilts his ass up and Jared sets his knees either side of Jensen's thighs and fists his dick and pushes in, no prep, practiced like they've done it a thousand times. They probably have.

Alex has to get a hand on his dick, even if he's still sensitive. Jensen doesn't groan or yelp like he should, with that much going into him all at once. He smiles, instead, and folds his arms under his head, and lifts his hips with it when Jared surges into him, and just looks—happy. Jared leans his weight on one arm, his other hand holding Jensen's hip, and he doesn't check in, or say anything, or act smug. He just pumps deep, a flex of his ass on each push in that must feel great from how Jensen's mouth falls open, his hips pressing into the bed. Alex wants to kiss him, wants to move, wants to watch from other angles, wants there to be a camera in every corner of this room so he can relive it over and over—but he stays put, fascinated, because this isn't—it's not porn, it's just… good, real sex, like he maybe hasn't—had, in his life. They know each other, know exactly what they like, and when Jared shifts so that he's nearly laying flat on Jensen's back he's smiling before Jensen even makes that deep, good sound, and when Jensen reaches back with one hand Jared's already reaching forward to grab it, their fingers lacing together and making one fist that they both brace against the mattress. Jared's back muscles flex, gleaming with blue-red sweat as he puts his weight into it, and Jensen's brow furrows, and he turns his face so his forehead's pressed against the back of his one hand, and he opens his mouth against the bedspread and his breath hitches and—that's his only tell, the only way Alex would know he was coming, except that Jared groans louder and says, finally, "God, yes," and then kneels up and holds Jensen's hips in both hands and slams in and in, fucking faster, chasing his own orgasm until he shoves in tight and sighs like a muscle's finally easing, his head dipping until his chin's touching his chest, his hair hanging in front of his face so Alex can't quite see his expression.

He hardly dares say anything. Jared stays there, petting the deep furrow of muscles around Jensen's spine, and Jensen licks his lips, shrugs his shoulders, and then finally says, "Okay," and that seems to be Jared's cue to pull out—and he's still hard, gleaming, smeared with his own come, and Alex's mouth immediately floods with spit he has to swallow down. Jensen twists around, showing his own wet stomach, and Jared smiles at him and leans down for a kiss—close-lipped, soft. Alex swallows again, throat achy. He watches Jensen gently touch Jared's ear, and his jaw, and closes his eyes.

"Think the kid's still into it?" Jared whispers.

Alex opens his eyes, jolted. Jensen's turned over fully between Jared's legs, the two of them so sandwiched close they don't look like they could be pulled apart without a crowbar. "His name," Jensen says, just as quiet, "is Alex."

"Yeah, yeah," Jared says, and slides a sideways look at Alex, and then laughs at whatever expression is on his face. "Oh, man. Think we broke him."

Jensen looks over too, relaxed and lazy, and hums. "I think I'd still keep him, though," he says, and Alex jolts for a different reason, breathing deep. "He's very cute. Still a lot to play with."

Jared shrugs a shoulder, easy agreement, and then raises his eyebrows. "You think he's ever going to say something?"

Alex sits up, and his head's clear. Sober again. Clock says it's one in the morning and the other couple are long gone, and they haven't been kicked out the party, but he thinks he might be done with it, for now. He pushes that one stubborn floppy edge of his hair out of his eyes, and looks at them, and takes a chance. "Dinner on me?"

Jensen actually looks surprised, but Jared grins, and peels himself upright to pump both fists in the air for victory. "We're totally keeping him," he says, his whole body gleaming.

Jensen smiles. "Sounds good to me," he says, and then jerks his chin, looking at Alex's chest—which is, yeah, still smeared with drying come. "Shower first, though."

"So fussy," Jared says, sighing, and puts a huge proprietary hand on Alex's shoulder, and Alex thinks, certain: this shower is going to be a lot of fun.

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](https://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/617104116661059584/just-a-rudderless-trustfund-gay-who-likes)


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